


Under Pressure (Approximately 7lbs)

by shlynn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidents, Broken Bones, Did my best not to swear in this one, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nothing really happens I guess, Oneshot, Pre-Fluff Maybe?, Tags Are Fun, Teen rating anyway, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shlynn/pseuds/shlynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles breaks his collarbone.</p><p>Well, Derek breaks Stiles' collarbone.</p><p>(It's Sterek in my mind, but probably safe for non-Sterek shippers too, I think!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Pressure (Approximately 7lbs)

**Author's Note:**

> I broke my collarbone twice playing rugby, so Stiles' experience with it is based largely off of mine. The first one, mostly, with the shock, because the second time I basically lay on the field swearing as loudly as possible until the ambulance arrived. So.
> 
> I don't know how to write Sterek plots that actually go anywhere. Goddamn.

Stiles breaks his collarbone.

Well, Derek breaks Stiles' collarbone.

As Scott essentially herds him very gently into the passenger seat of the jeep, Stiles vaguely recalls reading somewhere on the internet that it actually only takes about 7lbs or so of pressure to snap a clavicle. He wonders to himself how on earth he's managed to not break one (or both) before now, and tells himself he should have knocked on wood. Or, like, done some sort of weird voodoo charm or ground up some herbs and believed really hard or something, with the way his life goes. Maybe wished on a star in between all the full moon shenanigans - who knows.

It's at about this point in his inner-monologue that he realizes he's probably in shock as well.

Scott has somehow pick-pocketed Stiles' keys and is turning them in the ignition when Derek wrenches open Stiles' door again. Stiles has half a mind to try and tell him off for handling his baby so roughly but a) he's tried that before and it's basically pointless and b) Derek just _broke Stiles' freaking collarbone_ , so.

Also, Derek looks like he's about to break into hysterics.

"What can I do?" he grunts, shaky gaze cast right over Stiles (what else is new) and straight to Scott. Scott, who growls and pretty aggressively readjusts the rearview mirror.

"You've done enough," Scott grinds out, and then they're tearing backwards down the Hale driveway.

Stiles instinctively goes to reach for the holy-shit-handle, temporarily dropping his useless arm and hissing in pain. Scott winces.

"Sorry, dude," he says, cooling it on the gas as he turns them back onto the main road. "We'll get to the hospital soon, don't you worry. Here, call my - uh, I'll call my mom."

Watching Scott drive with one hand on the wheel as he distractedly tries to dig his cellphone out of his pocket is sort of alarming, but Stiles lets it slide. Mostly because his whole brain is focused on how much it sucks to basically have dead weight for an arm and who freaking knew that your collarbone was quite so vital to mobility? Huh. He can practically feel himself growing a whole new appreciation for the bone - the unsung hero of the upper torso, perhaps. Stiles really wishes he hadn't broken it.

That _Derek_ hadn't broken it.

Although Stiles will grudgingly admit (though not aloud, never aloud) that Derek's reaction came with provocation. But hey, no more than the usual amount of provocation, at least! That's gotta count for something.

Arguing about the Argents, even if just on Scott's behalf (because, god love him, Scott could not parse out a decent argument to save his life) usually ends with Stiles getting slammed up against a wall anyway, just - maybe at a different angle than this time. Or like, against more solid walls or something. Maybe something in the burnt-out drywall gave way and created a sort of perfect storm for clavicle-snapping, who knows.

All Stiles knows is that he braced himself the same way he always does - by going completely slack and flailing a little, naturally - when a literally bone-crunching snap sounded out beside his right ear and both Scott and Derek froze solid. Then Scott was wolfing out and Derek dropped Stiles like a hot potato, leaving him to crumple in on himself and clutch at his shoulder because _ow_ , okay. Ow.

Then Scott was pulling him up and between yelling at Derek he was pulling Stiles' hand from his shoulder - "No, it's broken Stiles, don't touch it," - and again when Stiles' hand instinctively shot back up - "Stiles, no, here, hold it at the elbow," - and Derek was going pale in the face and moving in disjointed slow motion, twitching forward hesitantly and then pulling back when Scott got particularly vicious.

"Yeah, mom, hey. Stiles, uh," Scott looks to Stiles, who is starting to feel a little sick, to be honest, "He fell. Yeah, no, I know. No, but like, bad this time. No, just - he broke his collarbone. I just know. Yeah. Yeah we're on our way. I know, but he's holding up his arm, so - okay. Yeah. Okay. Bye."

"Hnn?" Stiles means to ask what the plan is, but he ends up sounding sort of like he's on the toilet.

"She's gonna meet us at the emergency exit. No waiting room for you, dude," Scott says in his I'm-being-reassuring voice, which is never reassuring in the slightest, but Stiles just nods once and presses his head back into the headrest.

He doesn't really say much to anyone at the hospital, which of course has Scott looking like he's going to have an aneurism both out of worry and out of having to do all the explaining for once, but Melissa (thank every god for the angel that is Melissa McCall) just has him sit in a wheelchair and put on a makeshift sling. At least his one arm is free.

"Have you called your father?" she asks, and he shakes his head. "Alright. Well, I'll get you in a proper brace and then we'll do it, okay? That way he doesn't have to see you entirely banged up."

Stiles nods. Do whatever, please.

He has to go for an x-ray even though hey, he is pretty sure the thing is broken guys, come on - and then Melissa and a doctor wheel him into a side room and hold up a brace that looks like a foamy figure-eight. They strap it onto his shoulders and Melissa tells him to take a deep breath and then the doctor snaps his collarbone back into alignment - which has Scott busting into the room at the shout Stiles emits. Then he's crying, which is embarrassing - not sobbing or anything, but his eyes are overflowing because that was _definitely_ worse than the break itself.

He knows it's irrational, but he glares through his tears at the doctor as he leaves. Melissa taps him lightly on the back of the head and helps him into a sling too.

Melissa has apparently called Stiles' dad, who is apparently already on his way.

"I'll hold onto the prescriptions 'til he gets here," she says, and Stiles resents the fact that there is something knowing hiding in her voice.

"Oh man," Scott says when his mom leaves the room, "That was nuts. Man, that was so nuts."

"Yeah," Stiles agrees, shifting as gingerly as he can within the brace and the sling, which are essentially enforcing an extremely upright posture because clavicle alignment sucks, apparently.

"I'm gonna kill him," Scott says, shaking his head, and Stiles sighs and says nothing.

His dad arrives with this look on his face, which only gets darker when Stiles is forced to use Scott's lame excuse as to how he broke it.

"I fell," he mutters, and his dad sighs and takes the painkillers when Melissa hands them to him.

The ride home is awkward.

His dad has basically placed him on the couch, given him the remote, a glass of milk (for strong bones, ha), and a sandwich with some chips and is standing awkwardly in front of him with the bottle of pills when Stiles huffs and reaches out with his good hand for them.

"Dad, c'mon, I know how to read a label." He makes grabby-hands. Hand. "I know you're itching to get back to work, okay. You did good. I'm set."

His dad shuffles some more, uncertain.

"And I'm - I'm sorry." Stiles mutters. "Just - Scott and I, you know. I fell. It was dumb. Sorry."

At that, the sheriff sighs and relents the painkillers. He hesitates for just a moment before running a hand over Stiles' head.

"Just wish you'd be more careful, Stiles," he says, and Stiles nods and tries to smile, but he knows it comes out crooked and weird.

"I will, dad. Just an accident this time. You know me."

"That I do," his dad says, sounding anything but reassured.

He putters around in the kitchen for a good fifteen extra minutes and Stiles knows his dad is just listening in case Stiles suddenly struggles with something, so he very patiently watches TV and doesn't even fidget. Then his dad sighs and calls out a goodbye before he's finally out the front door.

Stiles groans. His _life_.

To be honest, he's sort of disappointed that he couldn't have at least broken a bone doing something cool, like maybe fighting witches or vampires. You know, something where even though he was all banged up, he could at least say, "Hey, you shoulda seen the other guy!" But Derek was probably back at his house, practicing lurking in dark corners or bench-pressing troubled teenagers, without a scratch on his stupid werewolf body.

He's been flicking between a home decorating channel and a special on "The Mystery of Easter Island" when the doorbell rings.

Getting up is a challenge.

He ends up sort of half-vaulting himself off the couch, doing his best not to use any upper body strength at all because it still twangs the wrong way a little bit, which - it basically ends up being a leg-propelled somersault that he has to abort before completing and holy _damn_ is that hard to do without flailing. He pads to the door and pulls it open, but his greeting is caught on his tongue because -

It's Derek freaking Hale.

Derek doesn't say anything either, so they just sort of gape at each other a little bit, and Stiles doesn't know why Derek feels he has the right to gape at Stiles because the only difference in Stiles since the last time they saw each other is the brace, which is technically _his fault_. Stiles, on the other hand, is allowed to gape plenty because since when does Derek use front doors and also is that a little stuffed bear holding a mini card in its hands because what -

"You know, for once I might have preferred you creeping in through the window like a creeper, because getting up while grievously injured was frustrating and difficult."

Sometimes Stiles is really grateful for his runaway-mouth.

Derek looks slapped in the face though, and Stiles almost feels bad until Derek starts to speak.

"I didn't - I -" and then he's thrusting the plush bear at Stiles like that's supposed to be good enough. The mini card reads _GET WELL_ with a backwards G and oh my god _what_.

Stiles is tempted. He is so, so tempted to make fun of Derek, but the man looks absolutely terrified and really, Stiles has never considered himself a bully. He sighs.

"Come in," he says, and turns back to the living room with the door open.

He lowers himself gingerly back onto the couch while Derek stands awkwardly to the side, looking like he wants to reach out and _help Stiles to sit down_ , which - no. Worlds of no.

"Dude, I'm fine," Stiles says. He finds the painkillers his dad gave him and wiggles them in his hand. "They gave me the good stuff, anyway."

Derek winces.

"I -" he starts again, then stops and huffs to himself, apparently as frustrated with his emotional constipation as the rest of the world. "I forget. Sometimes. That you're human. That you can't - that I can't treat you like that."

Stiles scoffs.

"Is this an apology?"

"Yes."

He'd been joking, but his head snaps around to look at Derek so fast he feels it a little in his stupid collarbone.

"I'm sorry," Derek says slowly, carefully, like he's defusing a bomb with his words, and Stiles can only stare.

After a minute or so, though, Derek clears his throat uncomfortably and Stiles snaps out of it.

"Dude, I'm not like some delicate flower or anything, cut it out with the eggshells, would you? I mean, I'm breakable, yeah, but I still heal - even if it's way slower than you guys because _screw werewolves_ \- so you don't need to freaking break yourself trying to apologize because of a _fluke_. That's all it was, Derek. A fluke. A bad angle. I know you didn't mean to do it, so loosen up, Sourwolf."

Derek's face gets a little pinched at the hated nickname, which Stiles takes to be a good sign.

"Besides, like I said, I got the good stuff," he adds on, grinning and waggling his eyebrows until Derek's shoulders relax a little and he rolls his eyes.

Stiles is cheering his victory in his head already when Derek comes forward and reaches a hand out to Stiles' right shoulder. He flinches back when Stiles does (the swelling hasn't even gone down yet, okay, it's instinct), but then comes forward again and gently places his fingertips to the middle of Stiles' clavicle, where the x-ray showed the break.

"I'm still sorry," Derek mutters, and Stiles can't figure out why he feels so light-headed all of a sudden, breathing in what smells like leather and the aisle in the drugstore with the aftershave bottles, and maybe grass, maybe ash, maybe citrus?

"Oh," Stiles says, and his eyes find Derek's as he figures it out. "Now _that's_ the good stuff."

Freaking werewolf mojo.

Derek scoffs and pulls away, but Stiles is still feeling pretty good so he doesn't even mind. He's maybe even a bit relieved for the extra breathing space. _Citrus_?

"Call me." Derek says, then coughs. "If you need anything. I mean. Or Scott, but. You can. If."

Stiles swears the tips of Derek's ears have a little colour in them when he abruptly turns to leave, but Stiles' mouth is already running off with some other thought.

"Hey! Gimme my bear!" he's yelling, and Derek pauses before turning back, face looking decidedly blank.

He walks over and places the bear gently right next to Stiles, leaning against his hip beneath his good arm. Stiles maybe holds his breath until Derek's hand slides away, brushing over his side through the fabric of his flannel shirt.

"Get well," Derek says quietly, and then heads for the front door.

Stiles is staring blankly at the TV screen, not even really watching whatever hardwood-flooring commercial is blaring on the home improvement channel, until he hears the door click shut. Then he's grabbing the bear by its head and lifting it up to face him, mouth twisting at the cheesy card and the bear's stupid grinning face.

"What." he says to the bear, to the empty room. " _What_."

The good stuff, huh.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on getting a fandom tumblr put together, but my "personal" tumblr is dashlit.tumblr.com, if you wanna pop by and tell me what you think there. Or here is fine too! Any feedback is welcome.


End file.
